exposed
by Khayr
Summary: "Dredd," she whispered, yanking her gloves off her hands and grabbing her med kit, "Your helmet has to come off or I can't get to the wounds." He grunted and swatted her hands away as she reached for him. "No."


There were many facets of Dredd's personality and mannerisms that most people found off-putting, strange, or downright intimidating. Hushed whispers (usually belonging to cadets and rookies who didn't know any better) often followed in his wake when he visited his sector house or even the Hall of Justice. He ignored it, of course. It only seemed to add to it. Stories ranged from why he was never seen without his helmet to why he insisted he only work alone… and why he had allowed the fail-grade rookie to tag along behind him after the shitstorm that had been Peach Trees. (They also liked to talk about that, too.)

Anderson knew all of this. She _also_ knew Dredd. There was nothing enigmatic about him, once you saw that past that grim jawline was someone wholly dedicated to the Law, to the city. He had left no room for socializing (it made you soft, she seemed to have recalled him saying once), and the other Judges had mostly assumed that meant he had to have piles of secrets laying about that he didn't want discovered.

Secrets like what could possibly be underneath his helmet.

That was the dilemma she found herself in now. Backup was inbound with a med-wagon in tow, but there was blood all over him- all over _her_. Dredd was flat on his back, chest heaving and a pained groan low in his throat. A Judge's helmet was designed to protect, and usually that was the case. When she had asked Dredd about it, he had simply replied that it was there to keep him from getting shot in the head, and that it made no sense to ever take it off (on the streets of course). It made perfect sense when he put it that way.

Now, however… they had somehow triggered some sort of hand-fashioned grenade that had lay underfoot. Shrapnel had gone everywhere, and although Anderson had been able to drag them out of the worst of it something had hit Dredd in the least likely of places. Blood oozed from just behind his vizor, and she could see bits of metal sticking out of his skin. She had to stop the bleeding.

"Dredd," she whispered, yanking her gloves off her hands and grabbing her med kit, "Your helmet has to come off or I can't get to the wounds." He grunted and swatted her hands away as she reached for him.

"No."

"_Dredd_," He was being ridiculous, and although she had half hoped that he would someday pull his helmet off of his own accord this really wasn't the time to be pleading with him over it. "I have to seal them, it's either me or the medical team and you _know_ they won't be gentle." He grumbled quietly, and she knew he was giving her his best glare. "If you're not going to let me I'll just have to wait for you to pass out and do it then." She shrugged at him, and although she was mostly joking she hoped that he would _try_ to be reasonable.

Finally he let out a sigh of defeat and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, a handful of pained noises coming from him as he settled. His mouth curled into a frown.

"Get on with it."

She didn't wait for him to change his mind. Anderson's hands gently closed on each side of his helmet and lifted. He hissed in pain and fresh blood began to run. When it was off she dropped it on the ground, but as she turned to tend to the wound she froze. There was a pair of hazel eyes staring back at her now. She took a moment to memorize his features (since she was sure she would never get an oppourtunity to again), ignoring the scowl that crossed them as he realized what she was doing. He had a rugged sort of charm to him, all hard angles and day-old stubble. His tawny hair stuck out in odd angles, a victim of being crushed under his helmet through day after day of work.

"Anderson," he growled, voice soft, "If you're done staring there's still shrapnel in my face." She felt her cheeks burn as she snapped to attention again. How embarrassing; she was better than that. She held the tube of medical foam between her teeth and took the tweezers up in one hand, the other gently turning his face so she could get at the injury more easily. Each touch brought a rush of raw feeling from his mind, and although she was doing her best to shut them out it was proving difficult. Pain came first, followed by his ever-present control trying to smooth it over. His usual anger felt subdued, although still there. Typical.

She worked as quickly as she could manage, picking at the largest bits that were lodged in his skin and ignoring the soft hisses of pain. When she was sure that she had gotten everything out she took the medical foam, smearing it along each scrape and gouge. She ignored the sour look he was giving her and wiped what was left of the foam and blood on her hands against his vest. As a last thought she jabbed him with some painkillers, watching his muscles begin to relax as they set to work.

Satisfied that he was no longer bleeding out in front of her, Anderson sat back on her heels to look her handiwork over. With the care he'd get at the infirmary (assuming they could drag him there) what looked like deep cuts now would be reduced to the faintest of scars within a week or so. Scars that no one else would know… except for her. The thought brought a half-smile to her face, and she clapped her hand against his shoulder as the sound of sirens approaching slowly filled the air. Dredd ran a hand through his already messy hair, grabbed his helmet and gingerly replaced it where it belonged.

"Let's go," she said, rising to her feet and offering him a hand. He ignored it and stood himself, although he swayed before he was able to get his bearings. When he had steadied himself he straightened, and once again settled into his typical demeanor. He sauntered past her as the med wagon showed up, brushing off the first two medics that accosted him to check his vitals.

"Anderson," he called as she trailed after him, sliding over the seat of her Lawmaster. "I won't tell anyone your secret." She knew he was referencing her obvious gawking at him, and if she wasn't mistaken there was a possible hint of amusement in his voice. She rolled her eyes at him and jammed her own helmet onto her head.

"Yeah, and I'll be sure not to tell them yours." Anderson may have been bluffing (she really didn't have any secrets about Dredd to share, except that she had managed to see him without his helmet on), but she caught the way he seemed to stiffen, attention snapping in her direction. She'd let him think she had something on him for a while. As she gunned the engine on her Lawmaster she shot him a smirk, and his face curled into a deep frown. He'd figure it out eventually.


End file.
